Content Warning:
This chapter contains discussions of illegal transactions, animal cruelty imagery, interpersonal violence, and psychological manipulation. Reader discretion advised.
19:35 PM | Auction Hall, Veil Society Gala
Velvet curtains peeled back like a secret unwinding in slow motion. Crystal chandeliers ignited the smoky haze above, fracturing light into jagged shards that danced across spiraling tables, monuments to wealth, vanity, and danger wrapped in silk and smiles.
Adrian followed Aveline through the crowd, keeping pace but careful not to shatter her rhythm. Each step she took echoed faintly in the cavernous hall, heels clicking against marble with military precision. She never glanced back. Didn't need to. She knew he was there, knew exactly where everyone was, always.
Table 3A. Prime real estate. Closest to the stage. Closest to the unraveling truth.
She slid into the chair like a blade through silk, crossing one leg over the other with the kind of elegance that looked effortless but probably wasn't. Silk whispered against silk, the fabric of her dress catching the low amber light. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk, the kind that said I already know how this ends.
"Watch it go down like this," she murmured, lifting a glass filled with crimson wine.
And then she let it fall.
Crystal shattered against marble, sharp, sudden, violent. Shards scattered like tiny stars across the floor, red wine pooling in dark rivulets. A sharp echo rolled through the room. Waiters flinched. Guests turned, startled. She did not. She leaned back, crossing her arms, ice flowing through every measured breath.
Adrian's gaze locked on her eyes, pale, icy blue with pupils black as midnight. Predatory. Cold as the void between stars. No softness, no hesitation. Only absolute control.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"That supposed to mean something?" he asked, voice low.
She tilted her head toward the stage, lips curving just slightly. "You'll see."
19:10 PM | Stage Presentation
The host strode forward, arrogance wrapped in silken words and a thousand-dollar suit. His smile was too practiced, too perfect.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he purred into the microphone, "welcome to the future of human evolution."
Holographic DNA spirals flared to life behind him, glowing blue helixes rotating in mid-air, pristine and gleaming. Labs appeared on-screen, all white coats and sterilized perfection. Scientists smiled with forced enthusiasm. Vials glowed faint blue, backlit for maximum drama.
Too polished. Too convenient.
Adrian leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Let me guess, half the footage's fake?"
"Three-fourths," Aveline said without looking at him, eyes locked forward with unblinking focus.
Then the lights flickered.
The feed stuttered once, twice, like a heartbeat skipping. The scientist's forced smile twisted grotesquely, mouth frozen mid-word. The pristine lab dissolved into static.
Cut to grainy security footage.
A dog, small, terrified, trembling, inside a sterile metal cage barely large enough to turn around in. The camera angle was overhead, cold, clinical. A gloved hand entered frame holding a syringe filled with glowing blue liquid.
Vx1.089.
The needle plunged into the dog's side. It yelped, high, sharp, desperate. Then the transformation began.
Skin split open like overripe fruit. Eyes liquefied into red, weeping sores. The whimper twisted into shrieks, raw, animal, unbearable. The camera shook. Static hissed and crackled. Then silence.
Just the dog's body, motionless, leaking dark fluid onto cold steel.
Gasps swept through the crowd like a wave. Some fled, chairs scraping, heels clicking frantically toward exits. Others stayed, frozen, hungry for spectacle and secrets they could whisper about later over champagne.
Adrian's stomach clenched. A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. Brilliant. Horrifying. Effective.
"You did that?" he asked.
"Overrode the system," she said, casual as ordering coffee.
"Of course you did."
Her lips curled into something sharper than a smile. The fools still seated around them shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other with nervous laughter. Unaware. Oblivious probably.
19:20 PM | Ongoing Auction
The auctioneer's voice was strained now, faltering at the edges. Sweat beaded at his temple despite the cool air-conditioning.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, clearing his throat, "bidding opens for Vx1.089, prototype batch A. Early access only."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "They're still selling that? After... that?"
Without hesitation, Aveline lifted her paddle. The movement was fluid, deliberate, utterly confident.
Silence rippled through the room like a stone dropped into still water.
"Opening bid: one million," the auctioneer announced.
"One-point-five," Aveline said smoothly, voice detached, eyes cold and calculating.
Adrian swallowed. One-point-five million. Just like that.
"You're buying it?" he asked quietly.
"Owning it," she corrected, gaze never leaving the stage. "Control the supply. Control the chaos."
The numbers climbed steadily: two million... two-point-one.
Then he appeared, Dominic Eltrune.
Tall, angular, graying temples slicked back with too much product. His paddle rose with deliberate slowness, a challenge wrapped in silk gloves. "Two-point-two."
Aveline's smirk barely flickered. "Two-point-three."
Eltrune's jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened around the paddle. "Two-point-five."
The room held its breath.
Aveline leaned forward slightly, black pupils burning through ice and steel. Her voice dropped, soft and lethal.
"Two-point-eight."
Silence swallowed the room whole. No challengers stepped forward. No one dared.
She smiled faintly, ruthless, elegant, victorious.
The auctioneer's gavel came down. "Sold. Two-point-eight million to paddle forty-seven."
Adrian exhaled slowly. Two-point-eight million. Without blinking. Without hesitation.
Who the hell is she?
NOTE:
The bid secured only early access to Vx1.089, not full purchase of the serum. A strategic side mission with potential future leverage.
20:00 PM | Auction Hall, Payment Desk
An assistant slid a black velvet folder across the polished mahogany counter. Adrian watched, crisp edges, embossed seal catching the overhead light.
Aveline didn't flinch.
She extracted her wallet from her clutch with practiced ease, flipping it open. Inside gleamed a card unlike anything Adrian had ever seen.
CPEX, Canadian Platinum Express Card.
Obsidian black with crimson filigree etched along the corners in impossibly fine detail. Raised gold embossing caught the light as she angled it, numbers and name gleaming silver: Aveline. Cold. Precise. Untouchable.
The card itself looked heavy, metal, not plastic. The kind of weight that said power without needing to speak.
Her fingers hovered over the terminal for half a heartbeat. The screen blinked to life.
The auctioneer's voice buzzed faintly in the background, more formality than question: "Two-point-eight million... confirmed?"
Swipe.
The terminal beeped, a soft, satisfied chime. Numbers flashed across the screen in crisp white digits:
$2,800,000 — APPROVED.
A micro-adjustment in her grip. Wrist flexed with surgical precision. Thumb poised against the card's edge like she was signing a death warrant. A ritual. Power made visible.
The assistant leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Receipt?"
Aveline's black-pupiled gaze zeroed in, sharp enough to draw blood. "Digital. No trace."
Adrian exhaled slowly, the realization settling over him like cold water. She just emptied half a hedge fund in thirty seconds.
"Luxury is its own weapon," she said, voice clipped but faintly amused. The crimson and black card gleamed in her hand, dominance, fear, precision distilled into metal and ink.
The terminal beeped a final confirmation. The room's energy shifted, whispers, glances, envy, suspicion rippling outward like concentric circles from a thrown stone.
She had won. Controlled the serum. Controlled the chaos.
She glanced at Adrian, lips curving into that infuriatingly calm smile. "Don't blink. Or you'll miss everyone else realizing they're irrelevant."
19:55 PM | Contract Room
The thick legal file slid across the table with a whisper of expensive paper, dense, sealed airtight, stamped with wax and bureaucracy.
Adrian eyed it warily.
LEGAL CONTRACT FILE // ACCESS GRANTED
CONTENT WARNING: This document contains terms related to high-risk biological materials, legal disclaimers, and binding medical protocols. Reader discretion advised.
AGREEMENT SUMMARY:
Sample: Vx1.089 (Prototype Batch A)
Usage Restriction: Early access only, unauthorized injection outside certified labs results in permanent ban and legal action.
Replication Clause: Unauthorized replication or distribution of serum samples strictly forbidden.
Liability Waiver: Purchaser acknowledges inherent risk, no liability on provider.
Non-Disclosure: Absolute secrecy required; violations punishable by law and contractually enforced penalties.
Adrian's brow furrowed as he scanned the dense legalese. "Technically, we can't legally prove it's dangerous."
"Who cares about the law," Aveline replied coolly, pen poised mid-air, "when they're out here playing god?"
She signed with deliberate elegance, looping, controlled strokes that looked more like art than signature.
The assistant looked up from her tablet, and Adrian's stomach dropped.
Miranda.
Black hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Piercing blue eyes that used to look at him differently. Tanned skin, sharp cheekbones, lips pressed into a thin line.
His ex.
"You've lost weight," she said, voice cool and cutting.
Aveline's smirk caught the tension like a shark scenting blood in the water.
"Stop. That's my date," Aveline said, calm and lethal.
Miranda laughed, bitter, sharp-edged. "You must be the new skank."
Everything slowed.
Aveline's hand shot out faster than thought, grabbing Miranda's ponytail, twisting sharply. Miranda yelped, stumbling backward, eyes wide with shock and pain.
"Who the fuck do you think you're calling a skank, bitch?" Aveline's voice was soft, deadly calm. "Leave before I yank that janky-ass hairpiece out of your skull."
Adrian stood frozen. Holy shit. The rage in her eyes.
Black-pupiled eyes glinted, predatory, tightly controlled fury barely leashed.
Of course. What was I expecting? No wonder people are so afraid of her. Who wouldn't be?
Aveline released her. Miranda stumbled back, hand flying to her scalp, breathing ragged.
"Next time," Aveline said quietly, smoothing her dress, "I won't act so kindly."
Miranda muttered something under her breath, "Psycho," before fleeing the room, heels clicking frantically down the marble corridor.
Adrian exhaled. Aveline adjusted her jacket, utterly composed, as if nothing had happened.
20:15 PM | Outside The Veil Society Gala
The night air bit with cold clarity after the suffocating warmth inside. Streetlights cast long shadows across wet pavement. The city hummed distantly, alive, indifferent, dangerous.
Aveline checked her motorcycle with methodical precision, brakes clean, new gear snapped into place, helmet secured under one arm.
She glanced at Adrian. Smile faint, cryptic, unreadable.
"Don't think too hard, handsome."
The engine roared to life, a low, predatory growl. Tires gripped asphalt. Crimson taillight flared like an ember against the dark.
She vanished into the night.
Adrian remained on the steps, cold settling into his bones. The truth landed heavy, unavoidable:
He didn't really know her at all.
DISCLAIMER — PLEASE READ!
This is a work of fiction. Characters like Aveline are not anime heroes, and no, you should not go around trying to pull off their stunts or bidding millions at shady galas. Seriously, don't be that person. And please do care about the law, laws exist for a reason.
If you don't, expect consequences ranging from severe embarrassment to very real bodily harm, and definitely no cool soundtrack or slow-motion effects.
Enjoy the story. Leave the wild stuff to the pages. Stay safe, sane, and please, don't try to be Aveline in real life.